That One Imperfection
by daysandweeks
Summary: "You don't go to Hogwarts." She's drunk. It's Saturday and she only has one NEWT left and that's not until Wednesday, so why wouldn't she be drunk? He's drunk, too, the boy in his jeans and T-shirt.


**A/N:**_ T, but borders on M – suggestive themes._

"You don't go to Hogwarts."

She's drunk. It's Saturday and she only has one NEWT left and that's not until Wednesday, so why wouldn't she be drunk? Everyone else is. Hugo's passed out already. Shots were never his strong suit.

He's drunk, too, the boy in his jeans and T-shirt. It's goldenrod in color. Is he a Hufflepuff, then? A Gryffindor whose House Elves aren't so good at laundry? "Ever hear of color safe bleach?" Lily chuckles, and she wonders if the boy might kiss her because her usual fling is nowhere to be found. Not that this bothers her, of course.

He still hasn't answered her, the boy with his mousy brown hair. He has a handsome face – bright eyes, brown like his hair. And yet he's remarkably unexceptional. There's a scar on his chin. Lily cocks her head to the side, squints. That one imperfection…

But no, she brushes it off with a shake of her head. "My name's Lily," she says as she continues down the corridor. She stops when she's within a foot of the boy, and he stops as well. He's wearing worn red sneakers. Red. Goldenrod. Either a Gryffindor or someone who wants to be one.

He sticks out his hand to shake hers. "You said I didn't go to Hogwarts," he informs her as she clasps his hand, firmly shaking it. A normal boy would let her hand drop to her side, but he holds on a little longer. He must be emboldened by the alcohol, like most seventh years are on this Saturday night. She notes that he smells like liquor, but what type, she can't place.

"Well, I've never seen you before."

He smirks, rolls his eyes. Her own return to that jagged little scar on his chin. A hint of stubble stands out against it, brown but not as mousy as his hair. His shoulders are broad. She thinks he might be thin underneath his Gryffindor-esque attire.

"You're not very observant."

She hates boys who offer her challenges, or rather, she loves them. He lets go of her hand now, and suddenly she's leaning against a wall and his hand is pressed up against it. He leans in. He wants a kiss, this nameless boy. She can vaguely smell the liquor again, and the scent of him…

Oh, God – it _is_ him. Her eyes widen and she smirks, licking her lips. Of course, if he really is drunk, he wouldn't have been able to hide that scar… She longs to reach out and touch it, to show that she knows who he is, to kiss him like she normally does… But a wicked idea comes to her. She's having fun with this.

"Cornering me, are you?" she asks, glancing into those brown eyes. She likes them better when they're ocean blue. "I don't even know you."

He cocks his head to the side, mimicking her earlier look. "Figured you'd be good for a shag," he says with a cheeky wink, and she considers slapping him as if this wasn't their usual banter – she's pretending she doesn't know him, after all. "I hear you're the slut of Slytherin house."

They'd joked about this before. And she _is_ the slut of Slytherin house – the secret one, that is. The one that's fucking the professor, not the one that's blowing every single boy in Hogwarts. No, she's not that low. She has a friend or two like that, and she's surprised he hasn't cornered them in a hallway.

It's the end of the year. He's got another job lined up for July. He's like an unruly seventh year, not quite caring either. She knows what that liquor is now – firewhisky. What else would he drink?

"Usually I slap boys for saying that," Lily laughs, "but I'm drunk…so I'll admit it." She bites her lip, tucks a stray strand of black hair behind her ear. It's slightly curly from the early summer humidity that seeps into the castle. "It's true," she whispers. "I am the Slytherin slut."

He bites his lip back, then leans in and kisses her, sucking on her bottom lip. _Well, if he wanted to play this game, he would have given himself away now_, Lily thinks to herself. Teddy always does that. He's the only boy who goes in for a kill, rolling her lip between his teeth, licking it, savoring it the second it hits his own.

He grips her hips, pushing her against the wall, kissing her neck. She stifles a moan. "Take me to your room and fuck me," she whispers as he gropes her breasts through her summery blouse. Because honestly, even if Teddy doesn't given a shit about his career, she does. He'll be fucked forever if he's found with her.

With a smirk, Teddy pulls away and reaches out his hand for her. She grabs it and they head towards his office. He's still smirking – does he really think she hasn't figured him out yet? She debates on acting surprised when he stops at his office door and then slowly opens it. Instead, she sarcastically rolls her eyes and quips, "Oh, Professor! I'm scandalized…"

He takes her in and it goes as it always does. After, she lies in his arms and he looks down at her, his hair back to his favored dark luster, his eyes a deep ocean blue. His skin is tan, his shoulders broad. He isn't as skinny beneath his shirt as the boy he imagined – he's all muscle, all man. "How did you know it was me?" he asks.

She smirks and rubs the pad of her thumb across his chin. No, he's not in his natural form now, and he's managed to hide that scar. But she knows what he looks like sans use of his power. The first time they shagged, he told her he loved her after, and she had meant to act affronted because she was _the Slytherin slut_ like that, but instead she had cried and said she'd loved him too, and he'd showed her who he really was, on accident, really.

"You were bombed, Professor," she says with the cheeky smirk that drives him nuts. "You can't hide your imperfections from me."

"My one imperfection," he returns. "My _only_ imperfection."

And he is right, so so right, she thinks, as he nibbles on her earlobe and rolls on top of her and she winds her fingers in his hair and round two begins.


End file.
